


flashes like camerabulbs fire in my brain

by existentialflu (sotakeabitofcalpol)



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drug Addiction, Episode: s02e15 Revelations, Exhaustion, Gen, Hallucinations, Introspection, Minor suicidal ideation, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Seizures, only tagging Spencer cause this is very Reid-centric, sorta i mean you'll need to watch that to understand this probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:40:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25131016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sotakeabitofcalpol/pseuds/existentialflu
Summary: Spencer Reid doesn't trust easily. Spencer Reid falls far too deep and far too fast. Currently, both of these flaws have decided to royally screw him over, and now he's an addict who's friends don't care enough to notice.Spoilers: they do care, but he hasn't realised that yet.
Relationships: Spencer Reid & The BAU Team
Comments: 10
Kudos: 217





	flashes like camerabulbs fire in my brain

**Author's Note:**

> hi, I'm new in town, and I come bearing a three day stream-of-consciousness mess prompted by me wondering 'what if Reid's addiction storyline went on until s3' and then promptly ignoring most of canon to make it angsty
> 
> smaller warnings for guns, deep introspection bordering on self-hatred and teeth? for some reason I don't really know anyway hmu if I've missed any
> 
> Also, this is NOT a pro- Gideon story, whoops

  
He spends his days in a world that swirls around him in overstimulating technicolour, and everything he says or does bleeds red into the room. He's angry, he's so fucking angry, that nobody has ever cared enough to ask what's wrong, that he stops breathing every time he sees a high backed chair or smells fish. Nobody had cared enough to check on him when he was a kid, even with the bruises, and the Dilaudid has chipped at the wall that kept that anger in check.

He can't bring himself to be angry at most of them, tries to keep it in, or at least turned on himself. He sees JJ flinch at dogs. He tries his goddamn hardest not to be angry at them. They don't know, most of them. Hotch is trying, knows he won't talk before he's ready. Hotch won't push him to open up, and he's thankful for that understanding.

He thought he could trust Gideon, but he knows those eyes. He's seen them in the way his father looked at his mother, disappointment and knowledge. Gideon knows he's using, and he won't help.  
Reid knows he's failed Gideon, but any guilt or desperation for approval has been flooded out, and he's only got room left for anger.

* * *

The nights aren't any better. His mind conjures images of the cabin, but an inch to the left; one night Gideon is looking down at him through eyes that shouldn't be Tobias's. Tobias pulls the trigger, and a bullet flies at his throat, waking him up choking for breath on the jet. His mother is holding the gun, and asking why he condemned her. After that one he decides he'll just avoid sleeping.

_71-96% of people with PTSD experience nightmares. The number is even higher for those also living with another mental health condition like panic disorder._

_An additional 20-25% experience post-traumatic nightmares that don't exactly replay the trauma memory, but are symbolically related to the traumatic event._

After he realises he won't be sleeping for a while, he orders the largest batch of 5hr energy and the cheapest multipack of energy drinks he can get his hands on. It feels like ~~losing~~ cheating, but then again, so does the Dilaudid.

* * *

Gideon's gone. He doesn't quite know how to feel, because he was angry but he also looked up to him, and on top of all that he _really_ hates when people leave. He tries to use it to motivate himself to stay clean, but it gets harder with each case. He's tired of disappointing people.

Gideon's replaced by Rossi, who his stupid runaway mouth manages to push away after one conversation. Rossi isn't like Gideon, he wears his anger better and harsher, and it not being hidden makes him want to trust the man. He can't, though. Trusting people just gets you hurt.

Rossi is sharper, doesn't trust people either. He stays late one night, and catches a conversation between him and Hotch.

"The kid's a druggie, Hotch. Can we really trust him?"

"I trust Reid with my life. He's not an addict by choice, and he won't ask or accept help for it."

"What do you mean _not by choice_?"

Hotch passes Rossi a file, and seems to notice the door is open. He hides behind his desk, mind whirling as he shuts it. Hotch knows, and trusts him. Hotch would help if he asked.

He can't ask.

* * *

Rossi doesn't exactly become sympathetic after that night, but he sure goes a bit easier on him.

* * *

He's working late again, because he doesn't really want to go home. Prentiss walks out of Hotch's office and straight towards the kitchen. He tries to focus on the paperwork in front of him, but his brain feels stilted, and the words come out wrong.

A paper cup is put down next to him hand, and he jumps. Hard.

"Reid, it's just me."

Emily. She's looking him up and down, at the faint bruising from twenty dizzy spells and loss of coordination, at the way his eyes and cheeks are hollow. He knows, because he's looked in a mirror. He knows she'll leave, because how could she not be pushed away by this? By him. Everyone leaves.

She pulls him into a hug, and he hugs her back, because she doesn't do this.

"You were spiralling. What's going on up there?"

She lets go, not abruptly, and pulls her own chair over. He looks at her, and sees how tired she looks. This year has taken a lot from all of them, and she doesn't have any memories of the good to pull her through. He tugs at hair he desperately needs to wash, and she tries not to profile him.

"Why do people always leave?"

* * *

He doesn't wake up screaming, this time. This time, he jerks half awake to the sound of a front door shutting. He tries to raise his head, but there's a rough hand on his shoulder. Not Tobias's. Morgan's voice drifts over from where the door just shut, and he hears it get closer, and feels the sofa cushion sink slightly as another weight joins it. He must have dozed off before he could dibs one of the few beds the small town police department could offer. The hand doesn't lift even as he stops trying to sit up, but it feels strangely comforting. A good level of pressure, keeping him grounded. Hotch.

"Sorry, pretty boy. Didn't mean to wake you."

His mind is sluggish, but as usual, his mouth runs ahead of him.

"Do we need to go?"

"Nothing at the moment. Get some sleep."

He needs it, so desperately. Realistically, he won't get more than a few hours before he wakes up again, but he's safe for the moment. Maybe it won't hurt. He feels Hotch's hand move to his hair, and where once he'd feel embarrassed, now he leans into it. He'll take any comfort he can get.

"Hush, Reid. Get some sleep."

* * *

He's back home, but his apartment walls are singing slightly, and he's desperately craving Dilaudid, so he shrugs on a hoodie and converse and starts running. His limbs are twitchy with energy but his bones are heavy. He keeps running until he reaches streets he can't quite recognisee, empty and surreal in the November clouded night. Somewhere, music is playing, and for the first time in months, a bit of the old Spencer rears his head to follow the scent of a caffeine fix.

The radio in the coffee shop is playing something that sounds a bit too angry for three am, but then again, the kid behind the counter is up at three am in an almost-abandoned 24 hour coffee shop. He doesn't know what he orders, if he even orders, but the kid turns away and turns back with coffee in one of the mismatched porcelain mugs that line the walls. He shoves a five dollar note towards them, and they pass back a surprising quantity of change. The mug is warm against his frozen hands, and his head is swimming in the way he knows all to well means he's going to hit the floor if he doesn't sit right now. He barely makes it, but he manages to only spill a few drops of coffee as his motor skills fail, and he sinks into the chair with a too-hard chink of his mug and a hypothetical click of his brain almost shutting down. He has to be at work in a few hours, but he doesn't want to think about that now. The music suddenly triples in volume as his focus drops, but that's fine. If he lets the words wash over him, he might make it through the night.

  
_I couldn't pass the Turing test if I_   
_Had the answer sheet_   
_I wanna leave everyone who loves me_   
_'Cause I'm so bland and they're so sweet_   
_The news used to make me cry every time_   
_I'd rather cry than come tonight_   
_I can't even give a fuck in my dreams_   
_Oh what I wouldn't give to care enough to scream_

That's all he gets before his brain reboots, throwing him back into the moment. The music dies down, and he grabs for his coffee, ignoring how it burns his mouth. Something hits his tongue, smooth and sharp. He forces himself to stop drinking, and looks down at the cup.

A tooth is floating in his coffee, and it didn't come from his mouth. He calls frantically for the kid, and they come running up. He can't understand what they're saying, but eventually he realises the tooth isn't real. He starts nodding, apologies stumbling out of a mouth that doesn't want to connect to his brain. They vanish for a second, and come back with another mug.

"Stronger coffee. No charge, you look like you need it."

They smile a little smile that hints at experience, and return to their book behind the counter. 'The Rest of Us Just Live Here' blares at him in bright yellow worn paperback. He wonders what it's like, seeing the world without the ugliness he sees every day.

* * *

He injects again, in the Quantico bathroom with audacity only afforded to the desperate, and as the drugs course through his veins, he can almost feel the shame surging alongside them. He's gonna have to restart again.

* * *

They have a new case, as they usually do. It's not surprising at this point, but it is unwelcome. Every movement he makes sends nausea coursing through his body, and he can't bring himself to eat anything for fear of throwing up, and being sent home. He doesn't want to be alone right now. Normally, he'd bitch and whine, but today, he'd kill for a nice stack of paperwork that he could fill out in his sleep. Instead, he's in a muggy room in the middle of fuckass nowhere, trying to will his body to obey him, and stop crashing into or dropping everything. Still, they wrap the case up without a dramatic shootout or chase, so he counts that as a win.

When they get back to Quantico, he doesn't really want to go home. He's half contemplating seeing if the kid is still on the counter of the coffee shop when JJ grabs him by his cardigan and drags him into her car, where Garcia waits in the back seat.

"Come on. We're kidnapping you for milkshakes."

"You need to get some kind of sugar in you, or you're gonna pass out."

It takes him a moment to realise what's been said.

"You guys...noticed that?"

"Spence, we've known you a while. If you turn down donuts, you're feeling too ill to eat, and you need milkshakes. Besides, we haven't had a youngest three outing in ages."

He almost starts crying right there, emotions amplified by exhaustion, but he just about manages to hold it together. He loves them so much it hurts.

Garcia directs them to an unassuming building, and they follow her up a narrow flight of stairs in an alleyway to a mercifully dimly lit and quiet milkshake bar. The server greets her by name, and flashes both him and JJ a smile and appreciative look that sends Garcia into fits of giggles.

"Did she...was she checking us out?"

"Welcome to the only gay milkshake bar in Washington DC, my dearest bis."

He's smiling wider than he has in months, now. He loves these people so much. JJ stutters out a mock-affronted "Distinguished bi thank you very much, unlike this disaster!" and he laughs as she points at him, and when the server comes back with their shakes she offers JJ her number, which JJ politely declines, with hurried explanations of a Will she's currently dating. Him and Garcia pounce on her as soon as the woman leaves.

The milkshakes are great, and they're both right; he feels better for the sugar.

* * *

Of course, that can't last. He wonders sometimes if he was born with a curse that meant he could never find happiness for longer than a few weeks. His nights descend back into chaos

* * *

He hasn't slept in five days and twenty three minutes, and he knows he's going to die. He can feel his heart beat in his throat, his vision blurring around the edges, and if he doesn't sleep soon he's going to die. He's already had one seizure, his chances of a recurrence are too high for comfort. He's sleep deprived and in drug withdrawal. He's fucked.

He stays awake, because everything has stopped being a psychedelic hellscape when he's awake, but he can't stop dreaming about it. It's cold enough in whatever hotel and precinct they're running between that he can sometimes feel the dirt from Georgia clinging to his skin, and he's not quite sure what that means

Hallucination or flashback?

 _Hallucination[hə_ _ˌ_ _lu_ _ː_ _s_ _ɪˈ_ _ne_ _ɪʃ_ _(ə)n]NOUN: an experience involving the apparent perception of something not present._

_Flashback, or involuntary recurrent memory, is a pychological phenomenon in which an individual has a sudden, usually powerful, re-experiencing of a past experience or elements of a past experience._

Both, probably.

* * *

He's stood at the whiteboard, case files spread over the desk. His mind feels fuzzy, but that's ok. He's felt wrong since Hankel, this is no different. Emily stretches, asks if he wants a coffee. She leaves the room, and he goes back to his geographical profile. JJ is on the phone to Morgan in the corner. It almost feels back to normal.

He doesn't notice his nose is bleeding until JJ grabs him in blind panic, and he has just enough time for his sluggish brain to realise he's seizing before his body starts to fall, and everything fades to black.

* * *

He half-expects to wake up in a hospital, or the floor of the cabin. The other half doesn't expect him to wake up at all. He was dead last time he seized, has the cracked ribs from CPR to prove it. He's not quite sure if he wants to wake up.

_If sleep deprivation continues long enough, it can cause or worsen suicidal thoughts and tendencies_

It's a bit of a shock when he wakes up with JJ's jumper under his head, lying in the floor of the room he'd been trying to work in before...fuck.

"Spence?"

His throat tastes and feels like it's full of pennies.

"JJ. Did I..."

"Have a seizure? Yeah, you scared the shit out of me. What happened?"

He can't carry on like this. That's a fact. JJ's jumper is specked with his blood, and he's exhausted from fighting himself alone.

"I...I think I need some help."

**Author's Note:**

> well that was something, I guess. sorry about the horrendous formatting, but here we are
> 
> don't call me out on the facts and stats they were 2am google searches.
> 
> the title is from Loki by the Mechanisms (go check them out) and the song in the café is Lukewarm by Penelope Scott (also check that out)


End file.
